


A Dawning Realization

by freckledbutter



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Q (James Bond), Asexual Relationship, Asexual!Bond, Asexual!Q, Established Relationship, M/M, asexual james bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21820261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledbutter/pseuds/freckledbutter
Summary: Q is asexual, but doesn't have the words for it yet. Bond makes a realization of his own.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 7
Kudos: 134





	A Dawning Realization

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written in at least 6 years, and probably the first one I've posted in the same amount of time! I stayed up way too late to finish this, so expect general writing/grammar errors.
> 
> I'm asexual myself, so I wanted to explore how Bond would respond to/accept Q's aceness. To make the scenes I wanted to write make sense, Q and Bond are close, but their relationship is in its very beginnings.
> 
> Of course even though I'm ace, doesn't mean I'm immune to bias. I write from my own understanding of asexuality, and Q and Bond are by no means representative of the entire ace community. Please let me know if you pick up on anything stereotypical/problematic.

Heady from a night of drinking, Bond reclines back into his pillows with a sigh. Their first day out on the field was over. With a long day of reconnaissance behind them, Bond had suggested a drink in his hotel room.

Q had nothing else to do for the night except testing code and reviewing logistics for their mission, so it wasn’t hard to convince him.

Q stands in front of the glass window view, nursing an almost empty glass of wine.

Bond watches him. This is their first mission together after their unexpected tumble into a budding relationship. Bond isn’t sure what to make of it. Neither of them have much dating experience beyond the occasional fling or, in Bond’s case, whirlwind love affairs ending in despair. And Q can be quite…touchy. He keeps Bond on his toes.

Q looks back from his place by the window to find Bond’s eyes on him.

“What are you looking at?”

Bond smirks.

“You look quite beautiful there in the moonlight.”

Q blinks, surprised. Bond catches the hint of a blush before he turns towards the window again.

<strike></strike>“You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Bond blinks.

“Thank you.”

Now then… is Q flirting with him? This night is full of surprises.

Bond sits up with a groan. <strike></strike><strike></strike>He’d meant his words; Q really did look stunning in the muted glow from the windows. Whereas Bond had long retired into an evening shirt, Q is still dressed in day clothes, his typical dress shirt and sweater combo. He’s unbuttoned the shirt, Bond notes, revealing a pale crescent of skin. Bond slides off the bed and pads over to Q, planting a kiss on his neck.

“Mmmh. You stink of alcohol.” Q mutters, leaning into him. Bond smiles into Q’s shoulder. He’s surprised when Q turns around, grabs Bond by the cheeks, and kisses him. Bond wraps his hands around Q’s waist. They stand locked in embrace for a while, slowly exploring each other at a languid, pleasurable pace. Bond finally breaks away. He stares at Q’s flushed face, his lips red and gleaming wet in the moonlight. He brushes his lips against Q’s ear.

“Come to bed with me.”

Q stills for a moment, but nods and allows himself to be pulled onto Bond’s bed. Bond lays down against the headboard, Q straddled atop him. He helps Q take his sweater off in-between kisses, making short work of his own loose-fitting evening shirt. 

Bond runs his hands down Q’s back and grips his arse, grinding upward—

Q tenses. His face, previously flushed, is suddenly tight and devoid of color. Bond slows immediately, pulling his hands gently away from Q’s hips. He sits up, giving Q space.

“Everything alright?”

Q looks guilty for a moment, then nods.

“Yes. I’m—I’m sorry to freeze up like this. I must profess, I’m rather new at this.”

Bond gauges the situation. He hasn’t seen Q this anxious in a while.

Gesturing Q to sit at the edge of the bed beside him, Bond holds one of Q’s wrists in his hand, slowly smoothing his thumb over his pulse. When Q doesn’t continue, Bond looks at him, trying to read his face.

“Q. Does this make you uncomfortable?”

Q gently pulls his hand away, head facing the hardwood floor.

“We can stop right now. Just give me the word.”

Q sighs, still refusing to make eye contact.

“Yes, I think we should stop for now. Or. I don’t know. I’m sorry. I should want this, but…” He falters.

Bond waits.

“I don’t know. It’s always been… Kissing, holding me, that’s alright.

But… whenever someone _wants_ me, wants something more, I feel… nothing.”

Bond watches Q ball up the mattress cover in his hands. There’s a moment’s silence before Bond opens his mouth.

"It’s just sex, Q. What’s there to feel about?"<strike></strike>

His joke does the opposite of what he wanted. Q doesn't look at him so much as glare from the corner of his eye.

“Don’t belittle me, Bond.”

Q’s face is unreadable, but Bond thinks he sees tears. _Shit_.

“Sorry. Forget I said that.”

Q sighs again, then laughs shakily, throat thick.

“Classic 007. Can’t help running your mouth, even if your life depended on it.”

"Hey. Come here.” Bond scoots closer to Q, wrapping his arms around Q’s shoulders and pulling him into a hug. He places his head on Q’s. Q tenses, but allows himself to be held. Bond feels him relax slightly.

They sit in silence.

“You’re a bony bugger." Bond murmurs into Q’s ear.

Bond feels Q shake as he laughs, then sniffs. “And _you_ feel like a stone statue. So we’re even.”

They sit some more. Finally, Bond sighs into Q’s shoulder.

“I’m fine if we never go further than this.” Bond mumbles. Q turns his head slightly to look at Bond.

“What did you say?”

“I said, it’s ok if we don’t do anything more than kiss or cuddle.”

Q looks at him in disbelief.

“Are you sure? You don’t seem a cuddling person to me. Very touch and go, from what I’ve heard on your missions. Multiple times, I should add.”

Bond chuckles.

“There’s a difference between a one night stand and a relationship, Q. I’m not _dating_ anyone on my missions.”

Q stares through the window for a moment, then back at Bond.

"Oh. So we’re dating?”

“If that’s what you’d like to call it.”

Q sighs again and shakes his head, unable to hold in his smile. Then he lets himself flop backwards onto the bed, pulling Bond with him. He curls up against Bond.

“Lord save me. How long until M finds out, do you think? I can’t imagine she’ll react well.”

Bond smiles.

“Soon, I hope. And I can’t wait to see her face when she does.”

\--

That’s the end of their conversation for the night. The stress of their high-stakes mission in the following days means scant time to talk about logistics, let alone their relationship. They both breathe easier once the target is finally neutralized and they receive their orders to head back to England.

Bond mentions the subject again a couple days after they return during his routine trip to Q’s headquarters. He’s slouched over Q’s cluttered table, a habit he knows annoys Q and does anyways.

“I think there’s a name for your type.”

“What type? I’m not an animal, Bond.” Q scoffs in mock offense.

Bond ignores him, instead fiddling with a new gun prototype on the worktable. Despite his busy fingers Q keeps a watchful eye, knowing Bond’s technical difficulties with his toys.

“Asexual, I think it’s called. I knew a bloke in the military who called himself that.”

Q stops what he’s doing momentarily, feigning disinterest. Bond knows better.

“You did?”

He resumes typing.

“Didn’t stop the shameless git from winning over half the women he met.”

“Sounds like someone I know.”

Q’s eyes remain glued to his screen, but Bond sees something in him relax.

\--

They don’t talk about Q’s sexuality—or lack of it, rather—again for a while, which seems to suit them both just fine. In that time Bond tries to convince Q to move into his flat, only to be reminded about Q’s mortgage and his cats. Not to be discouraged, Bond takes over Q’s couch until he stubbornly acquiesces to Bond sleeping in the master bedroom.

Lying tangled together at night with Q snoring softly in his ear and two bundles of fur curled up between his legs, Bond finds himself thinking about their conversations more often than he’d like to admit. Something about it won’t leave him alone.

The topic pops back into his head during one of their rare days off. Of course, a day off for Q still involves him glued to his computer, only this time at the kitchen table instead of at Q Branch. Q is a rather hopeless workaholic, Bond learns quickly.

Bond has trouble finding a work-life balance as well; he lies on the couch across from the kitchen, distractedly scanning a case file for his next mission.

After a while he tosses the file on the coffee table, looking over at Q.

“Q. Can I ask you a question?”

Q doesn’t look up from his laptop.

“Yes, you may.”

“It’s about sex.”

Q ignores him to continue typing, which Bond takes as permission to continue.

“How exactly does not wanting sex feel?”

Q rolls his eyes.

“I’ve told you already. It doesn’t _feel_ like anything. There’s just…” Q waves an upturned hand in the air. “zilch. nada. nothing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, how do _you_ feel? I’m dying to know.”

Bond shrugs.

“How am I supposed to know that?”

Q huffs.

“Exactly my point. Now that you mention it, there was something massively insensitive you said to me when I broached the subject first… Ah, yes. I believe you said, ‘What’s there to feel about?’”

Bond makes no move to defend himself, frowning.

“What’s your meaning?"

Something dawns on Q. He closes his laptop, eyes narrowing.

“Don’t tell me… Bond, do you…?”

Bond hastily interrupts him. He sits up from the couch.

“It’s what you’re _supposed_ to do, isn’t it? When you love someone.”

Bond sees a flash of hurt run across Q’s face.

“You’re saying that you, special agent James Bond, have sex out of—out of obligation? That makes no sense.”

“It doesn’t when you put it like that. And meeting you taught me differently.” 

Q tilts his head.

"It did. Otherwise we wouldn’t be here, would we? Together.”

“Right.”

Bond looks off into the distance. Q stares at him, unsure of what to say.

“But, James…having sex because it’s what you’re supposed to do. Is that what you really feel? It always struck me that you…” Q pauses.

“Spit it out.”

“Well, that you love sex.”

Bond leans back on the couch.

“I like the rush.”

“And the sex itself?”

“Part of the ride.”

Q leans forward.

“Fascinating…sex is a conduit for your pleasure, but not the source of it.”

Bond crosses his arms.

“Are you psychoanalyzing me?”

“Certainly not. I’ve just never heard of it before. But I’d also never heard of asexuality until you brought it to my attention. I have to thank you for that.”

Q’s face pulls into a grateful smile. Bond smiles wryly back.

“Don’t mention it.”

Q is silent for a moment. He takes a sip of his tea, brows bunched together in thought.

“So does this mean you’re asexual too?”

Bond waves his hand.

“Not big on labels.”

Q snorts.

“I thought you’d say that.”

Q opens up his laptop and resumes typing, a sign that their conversation is over.

Bond watches Q from the couch, brow furrowed.

Somehow, it feels like something’s clicked into place.


End file.
